Page 118 of Apex of the Curve

Epilogue

Mace…

“Another?”

I looked up, squinting at the plucky bartender chick that was serving ‘em up.

“Yeah,” I murmured and nodded and she gave me a look that was somewhere between empathetic and sympathetic.

“Okay, but this is going to have to be your last one, man. I don’t need to get busted for overserving you, no matter how good looking I think you are.”

I gave her a watery smile and swayed a bit on my barstool and nodded as she poured me another whiskey.

I was at this shithole bar in White Center, probably a quarter mile or so from the club. I honestly needed a fuckin’ break from the fuckin’ lovefest going on over there for a minute. Guys were gettin’ girls and settling down left and right and shit if I didn’t want that.

I was a jealous bastard. Weren’t no bones about it.

“What’s your name?” she asked me as she tipped the bottle back up and set it just out of reach.

“They call me Mace,” I said and took a sip of the smoky amber liquid in my glass.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Not supposed to ask me that, sugar.”

“Well, I apologize then.”

“’S no worries, you didn’t know.”

She was quintessentially Pacific Northwest. Her clothing organic, a mix between steampunk and hippy tree freak. Her top was a tank top looking thing with lacing like a corset in the front. Her shoulder tattooed with a Raven, the rest of her arm crawling with lush ivy vines.

Her hair was a brownish blonde, and in thick, ropy dreads down past her waist. Wood and metal beads with runes on them decorating her thick locks in irregular intervals.

Her skin was on the pale side, a scattering of light freckles over her nose and cheeks, barely there and almost unnoticeable in the dim light of the bar. She was thin, but wiry. I didn’t think she was weak, but she certainly was willowy – almost looked vegan but that could have just been the Burning Man style she had going on.

Burning Man was popular up here, even though it was a big musical festival, rave, party thing that happened down in the California desert. A lot of people from up this way went down that way and partied hard for like a week or two every year – pitching tents, a bunch of crazy art installations – you name it.

“What’s your name?” I asked her and she smiled at me with a wry twist of lips.

“Most of my friends call me Raven,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Raven.”

“Nice to meet you, Mace.”

A few guys came into the bar. Frat types. Asshole types and Raven gave me a wink.

“Duty calls,” she said with a breezy sigh and she moved away from me, carrying her herbal scent down the bar with her. I smiled and thought through the haze of my drunk that she probably used essential oils for all the things.

She was pretty, and I liked the sparkle in her light eyes, but she probably wasn’t the girl for me. I mean, she was a lover not a fighter type and probably couldn’t hang or go my speed. Her speed was probably saving the spotted owl on the weekends or something. Spending forty-nine days camped in a tree so the man couldn’t cut it down.

I chuckled to myself and shook my head. I could respect sticking it to the man every which way, but I needed somebody that could stick with me. This life wasn’t for everyone. Still, I thought to myself, looking down the bar where she was at the opposite end talking to some old barfly regular; I could tap that.

Her legs were encased in tan leggings that looked like leather, a bunch of bronze zippers along her hips and thighs, but there were definitely no pockets. The way the material clung to those long stems of hers left nothing to the imagination. Her tank boots finished off the look she had going quite nicely.

I heard laughter and muttering behind me and turned a bleary eye on the three frat lookin’ motherfuckers. They were sizing me up, and I turned back forward again.

Little shits could fuck off into oblivion for all I cared. It happened a lot, two or even three guys getting it in their heads that they could take on a Sacred Heart. That we weren’t nothing. That was, until they lay on the pavement broken and bleeding, or until we fuckin’ caught up to their little asses later – whichever came first.

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